


Vape Nation B)

by internationalbitchboy



Series: graduating life [1]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Author is going thru some shit, Confessions, Crying, Eating Disorders, Fights, Gender Dysphoria, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Michael Mell Needs a Hug, Michael has abandonment issues, Moving Away, Rejection, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Self-Indulgent, Suicidal Thoughts, Summer break, Trans Michael Mell, happy ending? what's that, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-21
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-27 20:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30128574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internationalbitchboy/pseuds/internationalbitchboy
Summary: Michael's having a hard night. What was supposed to be a hook-up turns to an impromptu therapy session. He already told Rich he was busy, but he the silence was killing him.
Relationships: Rich Goranski/Michael Mell
Series: graduating life [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2221419
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	Vape Nation B)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay major trigger warnings for all of this. For context, this is set during summer break after senior year and graduation, Rich is going to move away and Michael is struggling. I might add onto this, with like, a few years into the future but I'm unsure.  
> Absolutely not beta read, i wrote this in a day just to vent  
> Songs this was inspired by;  
> Vape Nation - Mom Jeans.  
> Death Cup - Mom Jeans.  
> Metallica Rocks - Graduating Life.  
> Jorts - Mom Jeans.

_"Can you, like...maybe still come over tonight?"_

_"You okay, man?"_

_"Yeah...yeah, I just-" Inhale. "I just don't wanna be alone right now."_

_"I'll be there in an hour, yeah?"_

How was he going to explain the shakiness in his voice? Would Rich ignore it and slam them both against the wall hard enough so that they forget. Michael wants to forget. Forgetting reads like a fairytale, such a concept he'd pour into, he'd think about forgetting to forget, and then he'd remember again. Nothing lets him forget anymore. He thought it was just the mirror prodding from the corner of his room that posed an issue, but some cuts on his knuckles and some shards of glass to clean after proved that to be wrong. His mind was the constant reminder that he was real, that his body existed. And no matter how thick the smoke got, it was never enough to forget, the louder the music got the more persistent his thoughts got. 

Unnervingly conscious as scorching water runs down his back. The darkness in the room wasn't enough to distract him, yet alone make him forget. He doesn't look down, that'd be asking to remember. His fingers trace along surgery incisions that at some point would make him so happy, and now they serve as a constant reminder. Further down, for a while he's been able to chart out the shape of his ribs, scowls when in his mind he marks it down as a sick victory of some kind. The bones that need to keep his lungs in check are decaying, but he's making sure to smoke enough to kill them off before they'd get the chance, they're rotting, charred. His body hurts when he coughs, his hands shake constantly now, he's lightheaded all day, he's tired no matter the time, his body maps out an abhorrent territory he desperately wants destroyed, so he does, a mini-army of self-destructive coping mechanisms which will one day dig a hole big enough just for him;

Because he'll die alone, no one to caress his worm infested body in the afterlife. Maybe if he were lucky enough, he'd make himself undesirable to worms as well.

Every night for the past two months has been a pity-party for himself, done up with metaphorical balloons, filled with tobacco and razorblades, sometimes he'd get drunk, but he's never been a big drinker. The only times alcohol was enticing enough was when it was stuck to Rich's lips. He'd get drunk by proxy. Maybe it wasn't the alcohol, and Michael's never been an alchie, but some mornings he'd wake up and he'd forget what had been bothering him that night, he'd remember eventually, because the reason is always the same, it's always been him, but it took about a good few minutes longer. Those days he'd wake up, maybe he'd leave his room, say hi to his mothers even, he could even consider finishing a meal. Chances double if Rich decides to not leave before daybreak.

The summer sun doesn't irritate his eyes as much when he knows there's another body right next to his. Like that he doesn't have to focus on his own, on how jagged his heart beats or how sweaty his palms are. Summer's never been his favorite season, he doesn't like shedding clothes much, t-shirts have been a no-go for years, and shorts were an option if they fell below his knees. The only time he feels comforted by the lack of cloth is when Rich is prying down at him, there's never judgement in his eyes, for anything. Maybe he would be too drunk to care, to mention, but lingering kisses in spaces Michael usually hates keep him alive for days on end. 

On days where the alcohol washes out of Rich's fast enough, where the sun shines down on a singular body, days where Michael would send off a 'hope you got home safe' message and never get a response, those days were the worst to get by. Those days it feels like the sun flares twice as hard, it feels like he could throw up in any moment, his words get stuck in his throat whenever he sees his moms. The cannabis doesn't blur anything, and the screen doesn't burn harsh enough. Those days Michael is sat wondering why he can't be good enough for anybody. Well, to put it as simply as that? Michael's picked apart his sole being and for years of reading into it he realizes just how average he is.

Average at everything he does, average in the way he speaks, average in the way he thinks, the way he looks, his interests, his sole being is mediocre, barely-tolerable. He's only good enough for a while, and then he gets boring, and people get bored and they leave. Turning his life into patterns and routines just to never change, to remain his 'enough for a passing grade' self.

He doesn't bother with drying his hair, he'd let it dry out and curl up, he hasn't really put effort into his appearance for a long while. His hair has endured enough heat damage from straightening anyways. For what it's worth, at least his hair isn't as damaged anymore, not as damaged as him. Or his room. God his room's a mess. Michael moved down to his basement as a permanent half-way through the summer. It was easier that way, to not have to look his moms with shame-filled red sclerae, as he'd read into the disappointment in their eyes. They could've gotten a daughter, someone who could've done something, been someone, instead they'd gotten Michael. Down there, the sunrays cant face him at all. He'd gotten to the point where he'd throw cigarette buds to his floor, since when did he smoke that much? How hazy has life been for him to not notice that much? 

Rich hasn't come over for over three weeks now, Michael can assume the state of the room had gotten this way because Rich was his only motivation to clean up. _God, what malarkey._ A fruitless vow to himself to not form an attachment ever since the bathroom situation with Jeremy. _Happily ever after my ass_. Ever since everything was done and dealt with, after Romeo had gotten his Juliet, Michael was left with an array of complexes to deal with and to be ditched almost every week for dates.

Michael stopped bothering asking Jeremy to hang out about four weeks into this summer break. It's blurry, really. He can place it in about the same time as when he and Rich began their arrangements.

Pointless attachments were his downfall and he couldn't even realize one forming in time. 

Not that he hasn't tried getting rid of it, he's blown off Rich several times so far. Just today he told him he's too busy. _Busy_. As if. The only date he had set up was with his Nintendo controller and self-hate, but when one coping mechanism fails you move to the other. Neither seemed very good for him, but with Rich leaving his side in the morning, it'd kick him down faster than he could ever do himself. It was the most effective way of self-harm he knew, the one that'd leave the most damage in the long run. Hell, maybe his issues with abandonment would get better if he numbed himself enough by it.

A concept of 'why' and 'what do I do' and no one answers him each time he calls out. A constant deadlock, never a clear path to take. His shoulder had been the most cried on, he's accepted offhand apologies no one has meant, so why does nobody want him for longer than a night? He'd roll their joint but no one stuck back enough to notice him crumbling. He struggles telling people how much he needs them, sure, but he's doing his best and yet no one wants to notice, yet alone care.

Yeah, maybe the bathroom situation proper fucked his psyche. At least he'd be proper fucked along side it, even if just tonight.

But the closer he gets to unlocking the door the closer the tears come to his eyes. He hasn't cried it out in a bit...Was this all blowing over? If so why now? Right when he's supposed to pull it together and numb it out for a few hours? 

Rich's knocking was incessant in his head, he can't blow him off while he's at his doorstep, that'd be a dick move wouldn't it? 

"Hey." And he couldn't stand another night without hearing that voice. So he picks his self-esteem off the floor and smiles back, even if it's tiring him out.

In seconds Rich drops the façade, as soon as he's inside he lets the smile drop, and the games begin. He'd push Michael to the closest wall, and they'd struggle while pushing each other down the steps of the stairs. Rich was fast paced, Michael struggles to keep up, especially with the obscene speed of his heart. It's unnatural, usually he wasn't this nervous...Maybe because he's sober tonight. What a change. But there's no beer sticking to Rich's tongue either. What a predicament. Everything felt more raw than it should've. Why would Rich ever make the sober decision to sleep with him? To kiss him, touch him...No this wasn't right. Michael can't breathe so he pulls back. He's got no escape, not when he's pushed against his bedroom wall, forced to stare down at Rich's half-lidded eyes, he's holding something in and Michael can't hold in his own. 

"Fuck." His teeth push down on his lip, and Rich's grip loosens for a moment. Michael's eyes wander to the ceiling, to force down whatever was trying to spill out. "Can we, God. Can we pause-"

"Micha?"

"Please..?" To his dismay, his voice cracks in the embarrassing high school puberty way, never wanting to smoke more than now, or get drunk, hell even a cigarette would do, any kind of high that wasn't Richard Goranski, because he can't really look him in the eyes currently.

"Yeah, man. Shit, sorry." Rich recoils his arms, if only he did the same with his eyes. Michael can't stand being looked at right now. To be seen _crying like a fucking baby_. Why was he even crying in the first place? He's good at burying everything down, why was it pooling over now?

"Well this is as good a time as any to warn you-" He's quick to take off his glasses, and press his palms into the burning of his eyes, a lifeless bitter smile sprawled out on his face. "I might cry in front of you." What a way to do so. He's waiting to hear Rich walk off, or an abrupt comment...yet neither comes. 

"Alright." Footsteps follow, but not towards the exit, no. Rich nears Michael's bed. Not to let his curiosity stray, instead Michael slides his back down the wall and curls in on himself. "If crying's what you need, we'll cry." And even when he says the dumbest shit it makes Michael smile.

"I th-think there's some alcohol next to the drawer so if you-"

"Nah. I'm not drinking tonight." But Rich never explains himself, and maybe Michael's the dumb one for needing grade-school explanations after every action, but he just doesn't understand why anyone would knowingly be sober around him. 

"Why?" Forever the coward, Michael Mell, too scared to be seen teary-eyed, he doesn't turn at all, yet he feels the confusion radiating from beside him.

"I dunno. Just didn't feel like drinking tonight." But Michael can't let it be quiet. Silence will give him space to slip into a corner of picking apart his behavior again.

"Don't stop talking, please. Say something dumb, ask something dumb...Just," He inhales through his teeth, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, to push down the heaves and sobs willing to break through. "Let's not keep quiet."

"Okay." Rich shifts somewhere on the bed. "Can I ask what's wrong or is that off-limits?" In all fairness, that was pretty dumb. When has Michael ever openly talked about his feelings?

"Bad day." Finally his head comes up for air from where it had been situated, awkwardly between his legs and arms. "Hell, bad couple of weeks."

"Did whoever you have plans with cancel or-" His sentence trails off, bold assumption, makes Michael laugh, then cringe away in disgust at how horrid his voice sounds laughing.

"I lied." Rich audibly voices his confusion, Michael finally roams over. "I just didn't wanna see you tonight." 

"Oh." Something like a mixture of disillusionment and upset reads so clearly in just a simple 'oh'. "What changed your mind?" 

"I needed to see you tonight." Michael stands, he walks over to his bed. A portion of which freed just for him, like Rich had been expecting the repositioning. 

"I don't get it." Rich sounds comedically dumbfounded. A lack of a laughing track snaps them back to reality, seems like not everything can be like a sitcom.

"Sure you do." Michael presses his back to his pillow, while Rich sits crisscross opposite him. "You don't wanna drink, but you need it. I don't wanna smoke, but I need it." Distasteful sniffles and snotty responses is all he's good for tonight, so why is Rich still here?

"You're comparing me to a drug?" A play-off on faux offense, a smirk playing along, always attempting to bring the mood up.

"Definitely." But the mood isn't necessarily rising. Rich drops his defenses. "Sorry, I don't know what's up with me tonight."

"How about you try and talk about it?" Rich offers, inching himself closer, to place a hand on Michael's thigh and at that point the salty teardrop playing at Michael's eyes drops and he rushes to catch it. He's aware again, he remembers again. "When you keep shit inside, see what happens?" Rich points to Michael, then to himself, mocking previous incidents and skin grafts to remain as reminders. Both physically scarred and forced to remember, maybe that's what ties them so close.

"It's stupid." And yet he plays it off as he usually would. How could he be so selfish to think about his own issues when others have it worse..

"Michael. It's not stupid. If it's hurting you it's not stupid." His words dig deeper than daggers and there's more piling up. "Man, you sit down and you let everyone talk their issues out with you, but not once have you talked about yours. What you _need_ is someone to listen." 

And it's silent for a few. Michael's shaky hiccups fill the room up with nothing but tension, eyes close just in time to let slow shameful tears fall and stain his cheeks. "Do," He tries, shuts down immediately. "Do you know that...the reason," Hushed, unfinished wording to accompany scanty inhales. "I listen to everyone, the reason I forgive everyone and...Why I try so hard to be nice," And for weeks he'd play out this situation, what'd he say if he were to finally break. Maybe in his mind it had been slightly more badass and yet; "Is so that no one else leaves me?" 

And Rich swallows his words, if there had been any to do so with in the first place. Stupid enough to offer an ear to listen when he doesn't know comfort. But Michael always comforts others the best he could, and Rich is tired of being selfish, he promised he'd be better. 

"Stupid, right?" There was an attempt to laugh off his words, almost like immediate regret he'd ever opened his mouth, a way to change topic maybe.

"It's not stupid." And reassurance is a nice concept as well, Michael wished the words made anything change, but just as himself, nothing ever changes. "Why do you think people will leave you?" Since when did this become a therapy session?

There's a shrug, upturn of his shoulders, just staring distantly at the wall across him, avoiding looking into Rich's eyes because he knows they hold pity, and being pitied was a nightmare. He didn't need pity. "Cause everyone does." He pushed his legs up again, to press against his chest, if only to rid of Rich's ghosting touch. "Hell even my own dad didn't wanna stick around-" That was supposed to be a joke, Michael even feigned the laughter to accommodate, odious and strained, but laughter nonetheless. Rich wasn't laughing. Shit. "I'm sorry, I just." He should feel lucky, right? To not have a paternal figure like Rich's. He should be grateful his own took up and ran off as soon as things got weird. Michael doesn't wanna remember.

"Why are you sorry? Don't apologize." Rich doesn't seem offended, though. Sad, if anything. 

"Sorry-" Yet here it is again. Excessive apologies to mask the fact that no matter the situation Michael will feel as if it is his fault. Even if he had been the one screwed over, he would apologize because of course it's his fault. 

"Michael." He doesn't enjoy how stern Rich had gotten. A free spirit, always loud and laughing, joking around with his friends. This tone matched the one back in sophomore and junior year. The one that'd call him names...Michael needs to forget that. He's forgiven Rich, he wasn't the same, Michael understands but some things really stick to you sometimes.

Where does he go from here? Does he speak his mind for once? Let what he feels out from the constant barrier he keeps to his tongue? Sugar coat his emotions so that he doesn't end up looking like someone yearning to be pitied?

"Rich, I'm in love with you." Or he could go with this approach. What a way to break through the deadlock.

Immediate regret rushed through his veins, wanting to bandage up his words, run off somewhere, he wants to get high...he wants to hurt, he needs to sleep, he...he's looking right at Rich's bashful smile.

"You are?" There's a line of uncertainty tainting his vocal chords.

"I think so." He feels himself picking at his nails, chewed up and dry, shaking and trembling, an awful fidget, but sometimes bleeding makes him feel alive. "I swore I didn't want to get attached to anything after the Jeremy situation...So I'm sorry I've been blowing you off for the past few weeks, I didn't...I didn't mean to." Rich opens his mouth to speak but Michael continues, there's a sober bravery for once and he can't filter himself anymore. "Fuck I'm sorry, I swear I've been thinking...I thought, shit, maybe I just liked the fact that someone was giving me the time of day and...and asking to be around me and for once I didn't feel disgusted with myself when being touched and looked at and whenever you're here I forget...I forget how much I hate myself, and I'm so fucking sorry that I never let you know just how much you mean to me, and I'm sorry you have to sit here and watch me cry and I-I..."

Word vomit pauses there and this time all the pent up tension and emotion comes out, for the first time in weeks Michael gets himself to fully cry it out, and only feeling partially insecure because now Rich was close again, and his hand was pressed mildly against the curve of his cheek, his touch baring as something like a reminder, but not those that make him wish he was blacked out drunk. Rich doesn't say anything...why doesn't he say anything? 

He never shuts up so why now? To put them in a standstill, but alas it was Michael's fault for letting the words spill out wasn't it? He'd been the one to break the initial trust of not catching feelings, but to push this physical attraction to something emotional wasn't his initial plan. He sucks at planning. His life had always panned out a loose idea.

"Forget about it, I'm sorry." 

"You're apologizing again," When had his voice grown with such antagonism? Michael inhales his words before he speaks his same mistakes, another one of those routines he'd get hung up in. "Why do you think you're in love with me?" What kind of question is that? Was this some sort of twisted 'prove you wrong' game?

"What?" For what it's worth, Michael takes Rich's hands and moves them away from his face. Was this a rejection method? 

"You aren't in love with me Michael."

"Why are you telling me what I feel, I-I know that-"

"No you don't." The irritation in his voice makes Michael take a few steps back...Why was he the one angry? What is it about him that just pisses people off.. "You can't fall in love with the first person that appreciates your presence, man."

"It's not just...It's," There he is again, struggling to get his words out, stammering like a kid, this constant push and pull with his thoughts. 

"We're barely out of high school, do you seriously think we have enough time for commitments like this?"

"Rich you-"

"What? Do you want me to tell you that I'm in love as well? Sure I am! But I can't be the reason you bitch and moan when everything falls apart!"

"Shut up-"

"I'm so fucking in love with you, God, you saved my fucking life,"

"Shut up..."

"But you don't love me, you love the idea of someone being there for you, someone replacing the hole Jeremy left-"

"Stop talking!"

"And I'm not going to be that person!" 

The room fell silent again, it was probably the fact that Michael had collided his hand with Rich's cheek, we can blame the tension on that as well. For a moment Michael sees Rich twitch, he realizes his mistakes there. Braces what he can for the impact, Rich was never so good with his temper, this had been an overstepping of boundaries, he hadn't meant to hit that hard, or hit at all...But nothing comes his way. Rich just closes his eyes and steadies his breathing. 

"I probably deserved that."

"Please leave." Michael's voice is shaking, he's out of breath yet he'd barely moved, he's trembling, he's fucking terrified. 

"Michael I'm sor-" Still Rich tries to move towards him, Michael scurries away, the weight of the situation showing through his suppressed sobs.

"Just fucking go! Please..." And Rich considers it, he takes in his surroundings, inhales and moves off the bed. Michael doesn't look, he reaches for his glasses instead,.

"I'm leaving Monday." Michael can see him at the door frame, hesitant. "If you wanted to come by." He can never blame Rich for making the decision to move abroad. To get away from this shitty town, to move away from this issues, and he had the chance to...he deserved to. Michael can't blame him for leaving, either. He doesn't expect people to stay. He doesn't respond however, he's already building his list of reasons he can't drop by, a check-list of textbook excuses. So Rich leaves, just as he would Monday. Michael doesn't look back.

And he's alone again, figuratively and quite literally, and no one but himself to blame. What a future to build on. Living in the here and now was a nightmare, fairytales of 'it gets better' all throughout middle school just to be an adult, alone, falling apart and everything was just the same. Words that'll stick to each corner of his mind for an eternity he sees fit. And maybe some day things could change, they'd be better, or Michael tells himself, because he's too scared to go.

Leaving requires change, so he'll stay alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, i had two alternative endings to this, one of which was actually a happy ending!


End file.
